


This Year Was Ours

by JannP



Category: Gossip Girl
Genre: Divorce, F/M, Howard dies, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Jenny dies, Sorry?, mentions Carter Baizen - he doesn't die, mentions of Dan and Vanessa + infidelity, neither is graphic enough for warning though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 18:22:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15078965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JannP/pseuds/JannP
Summary: They actually bring in the new year at midnight, together, with champagne and silence. And the knowledge, no matter how much they outwardly let go of each other, they'll always need the silences shared together to rejuvenate them when they get tired of pretending.Serenate, slightly canon, slightly AU following the finale, and a little messy like they have a tendency to be.





	1. January-March

**Author's Note:**

> Now that I've finished this (four years after I started it, ouch), I've decided to post it here. It's four parts total, each spanning three months in the same year. I've never seen seasons five or six, but I know the gist of what happens, so this may not reflect every canon detail. 
> 
> Title, inspiration, and some other bits and pieces were inspired by 'Farewell December' by Matt Nathanson.

_January_

Nate likes his life, now.  He _does_.  He’s used to the attention, and honestly he usually does what he can to draw it to himself.  Running for mayor of New York City is a situation where you want to attract attention and get people talking.  At the same time, though, there are times when it’s nice to just be alone.

He’s actually alone quite a bit these days, at least behind closed doors, and it’s kind of nice.  He works, pretty much always, and doesn’t have trouble finding a date if he needs one but he doesn’t _want_ one.  Feelings about public service, running the newspaper, being focused—those are a lot simpler than really dwelling on matters of the heart.  It isn’t he’s shut that part of himself off, exactly, but he’s put it in perspective and he’s a lot happier for it.

It doesn’t hurt that his married friends don’t have much time for him.  He isn’t part of their club and he’s too busy to be bitter about it.  He has other things to fill his time—the paper, all the things that are required to be visible enough to run for office, maybe a little preoccupation with how his mother’s doing since he barely gets to talk to her and sees her even less.  They’ve never had an extremely close or warm relationship but they’ve never had a terrible one either, so he wants her to be happy and healthy at the very least.  He knows, in some ways, they’re all the other has by way of close family connections.  At this point, Grandfather is more of a professional or political connection, even if he doesn’t need or want that.  So yes, since he hasn’t completely surrendered to the world he lives in, he thinks about his mother more often than he’s willing to admit.

Still, though, absolutely none of that means he doesn’t relish the chance to slip the disaster, the armed guard, the photographers, and prying eyes…all so he can hide in the crowd at Times Square for a bit.  There’s something freeing about blending in and looking around, which sounds completely backwards but it isn’t.  And also something in knowing that his rep would _kill_ him if she knew this was happening.  So would the mother he was just thinking of, and Blair, and Chuck—anyone who thought it posed a danger to him in any way.  Let’s face it, though, the danger is there.  Someone is always crazy enough to try and off a public figure—even if he isn’t president or anything—for a little bit of notoriety and attention.  It’s like a gamble and God knows he’s always enjoyed one, at least a little.

That lasts five minutes.  Not because someone does anything to hurt him, but because someone recognizes him—and not someone from the press or the public.  Someone from that life where the married people don’t have time for him.

Someone he hasn’t seen since he let her get away, in a gold dress and marrying the man he knows is the wrong one.  It’s what she wants, though, and she swore she was happy and over him and it didn’t leave him much of a leg to stand on.  So he let her go and he hasn’t called, even when he’s thought about her.

She looks better than she has in his head or behind his eyelids on the occasions he dreams about her.

“Nate,” she says, her voice barely more than a sharp whisper.  He turns and grins slowly.  It doesn’t hurt to see her, not really. 

No, she’s _never_ been so pretty – so beautiful – it hurt just to look at her and know she didn’t want him. 

He’s a politician now, which means he’s a liar by trade.

“Serena,” he says, not diving toward her and hugging her like he would’ve.  In fact, he takes a step back and has to apologize for bumping into someone before they can say anything else.

“Are you here _alone_?” She asks.  Yes, she’s married and she shouldn’t, but they’re friends.  Or they once were.  They were a hell of a lot more than friends.  She watches, and she worries in that way she does where no one else knows it’s happening because she still has a ready smile.  Anyway, she knows it’s virtually impossible to actually get him alone.  Maybe it’s only impossible for her, because she knows he occasionally has Scotch and cigars (not really cigars, but they’re business men and they’re _never_ admitting they still toke up every now and again) with Chuck.  She knows he buys off Henry’s nanny for an afternoon here and there to do something Blair usually finds _incredibly_ pedestrian, like build Legos or play video games.  Serena hasn’t seen him alone since they shared a dance at her wedding, and that was still in a room full of people so it wasn’t really alone.

She hasn’t actually seen him even once since then.  That was over a year and a half ago.

He doesn’t know why he glances over his shoulder.  He knows he’s alone.  He didn’t bring his cell phone.  He’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt under a very casual coat (it has a hood and no collar or lapels and the woman who ‘helps him’ shop for clothing would be _horrified_ ) in public, for the first time in _forever_ except the time he was “caught” jogging in the park as part of a being-seen strategy.  There isn’t a representative, an image coach, a campaign manager, or a Vanderbilt anywhere in sight.  “Yeah,” he says with a leading tone.  Something riles the crowd up, though, and it interrupts.  He steps a little closer to her and puts his hand on her elbow.  It’s mostly to keep them together as the crowd tightens around them.  “Are _you_?”

Serena smiles that wide, closed-mouth smile he’s still not convinced anyone else even knows about, while she nods.  It’s conspiratorial, but not in a devious way.  In some ways, he created that smile of hers and it’s his favorite.  And he almost hates she can undo all the progress he’s made pretending he’s moving on.

(He is.  He’s just married to his job now.  He’s in love with public office and attention and it doesn’t hurt that he ends up with free meals or coffee with phone numbers penned on the side in hopeful ink because… yeah, he’s still not hard on the eyes and he knows that.  Plus he’s polite; Chuck’s never been convinced it’s an effective life strategy, being nice.  Nate knows otherwise and it gets him his way more often than not.)

He doesn’t know what he’ll get from it this time, but the smile he gives her back is _nice_.  It isn’t all that polite.  “Interesting,” he comments lightly.  He’s already looking for an escape, though.  Not an escape from her, an escape for the both of them.  He finally thinks of something and seizes her hand.  “Come with me,” he adds, like he was giving her a choice.

They end up on the roof at the Empire.  Once upon a time, it would’ve been hosting a New Year’s Eve party, but they’ve all moved on.  The place has transformed from young vibrancy to old-world elegance as Chuck has grown up.  The Empire has grown with him.  Nate’s not in the mood for a cigar room or freshly-warmed cognac with a dignitary. He wants the rooftop, even if the party stays private—maybe most especially if it does.

“We shouldn’t be up here,” Serena admits.  It’s cold, and her clothes are always a little too small for the weather, but she doesn’t want to shiver.  She doesn’t want his jacket, and she knows he’d give it to her without a second thought.  He’d drape it over her shoulders and… even though they’ve got the market on inappropriate conduct cornered… she wishes for a split second it wasn’t all so familiar.  She doesn’t want it.  Not like this.

He just shrugs, and it would be annoying if it wasn’t so him from ten years ago.  “Who cares?”

She laughs.  “I don’t.  I don’t have anywhere better to be.”

He sighs.  “I had invitations to four different parties, including Blair and Chuck’s,” he admits, coming to stand next to her.  “I didn’t _want_ to be anywhere else.”

“You’re never anywhere anymore,” she says.  Yeah, she’s pouting a little.  “I miss you, Nate.”

Nate glances over at her, not chancing more than a glance.  As much as he can say he’s put the way he felt about her on ice, it’s not entirely true.  He’s always known he’ll always feel the way he felt about her.  It’s just a _fact_.  And, like rainy days and Mondays, it always comes around to drag him down.  The only chance it had to do anything else was the brief moment she chose _him_.  No, he’s not walking around a big ball of hurt feelings and jumbled up, complex emotions.  He’s not angry or devastated or anything like that—it’s all quieter and more accepted.  Not quite numb, but not as stabbing as it was for so long.  His glance turns into a stare when he realizes it doesn’t hurt to turn his head that far.

He was hers, but she wasn’t his.  She never really has been.  Rainy days.  Mondays. 

The way things had been, the way things were.  The way they _are_.  

When he doesn’t answer, she braves a question he _does_ hate.  “Do you miss me, too?”  Her voice is impossibly small, and he knows, without her adding it, she knows how selfish the question sounds.

Because she _is_ that selfish.  She always has been and he’s loved her anyway.

“I try not to think about it,” he says.  That’s one thing he’s always been – honest.  Well, except the times he wasn’t but there’s really only one example he can remember for certain where that was the case.  “I have enough going on without thinking on what I’m missing.”

“Anniversary parties,” she answers.  “Birthdays.  Old traditions.”

So… she’s listing things he’s missing by not being one of the married insiders?  _Great_.

“Do you know how selfish you sound?” He manages, his words breathy and disbelieving.  He peels his eyes away from her, but he feels her steel beside him.  “You can’t have it both ways, Serena.  You never could and that was always the problem.  Your decision is made – and so is mine.  I’ve never been afraid to commit.”

Yeah, he’s talking about his job, but he’s talking about their history, too.

All it takes for them to turn back into themselves, as friends, is a joke about him maybe needing to be _committed_ , since he’s living the life he always swore he didn’t want – and a bottle of champagne he ‘do you know who I am’s his way into down at the bar.

They actually bring in the new year at midnight, together, with champagne and silence. 

And the knowledge that, no matter how much they outwardly let go of each other, they’ll always need the silences shared together to rejuvenate them when they get tired of pretending.

* * *

_February_

Jenny Humphrey never really straightened her life out.  Instead of selling the drugs, she started doing them with the models she clothed for some designer he can’t pretend to name.  She never got her own design company off the ground because she trusted the wrong guy to handle her money.

She overdoses in SoHo during fashion week.

Nate and Serena end up alone together on the roof of the Empire after her funeral.

He wasn’t actually allowed to attend.  He wasn’t completely sure he wanted to, or he would’ve pushed it, but he didn’t want to draw the attention he’d inevitably bring to such a painful family affair.  Some things need to remain as private as possible and, honestly, it’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make.  The people who are always with him are downstairs, though.  Even if he has some space to think things over, it isn’t _much_.   He’s not surprised to see her when she walks through the double glass doors.  He’s halfway through the bottle of Scotch, not even bothering with the ceremony of glasses, and he just hands it to her without a word and without a smile.

“I never forgave her for breaking us up,” Serena admits after her first drink.

“She’s your sister-in-law,” he protests incredulously, taking his bottle back right from her hands.  “And she’s not what broke us up.”

“Well she definitely didn’t help the situation.”

“I didn’t talk to her at the wedding.  Yours, I mean.”  There was a long time before he said that.   He doesn’t want to talk about Serena’s wedding, pretty much ever.  In fact, he’s not sure which he wants to talk about the least – the Humphrey wedding or the Humphrey funeral.  “I’m supposed to go upstate for a few days to some college campuses.  Speeches and things like that.”

She appreciates the subject change and smiles, changes her tone to lightly teasing.  She wishes she could just go back to a college campus and have it be that easy; it’d be a nice little rewind button.  “So what you’re saying is, in the next few days, you’re going to spend more time on a campus than any stretch before in your life.”

His jaw drops and he laughs, even though he doesn’t want to because her joke was terrible.  He bumps her shoulder with his.  “No, that’s _you_.  I actually finished my degree.”

That should _not_ make it hard for her to breathe.  It all goes back to his statement, last time, that he’s never had trouble committing.  She has enough trouble staying in one place, or had done, that she didn’t even _know_ one of her closest… something (she can’t call him a _friend_ because he’s so much more than that)… was a graduate.   “You _did?_ When?”

“I, um… my dad broke his parole and got caught.  I didn’t go to any of the graduation stuff because they were extraditing him that same afternoon.”  He admits.  “Everyone else had a lot going on so I just….”

“What, put the paper in a drawer and forgot about it for the last five years?”

“It’s in a _frame_ ,” he says quietly, but now he is smiling.  “In a box.  It might be in the back of my closet.  I’m not really sure where it went when I moved in, actually.”  He takes a healthy drink from the bottle when he considers that because… it’s like… pieces of his life, ones that seemed really important, and now he has no idea what actually happened to them.

On some level, Jenny and Serena are included with that.  The only one of his friendships that’s fallen by the wayside, and he knows how it got there, is the one with Dan.

“I don’t even know where you live anymore.”  Maybe because of the words that just popped out, she steals the bottle from him.  Like as it’s pressed to his mouth.  He chokes a little and they both spill and it shouldn’t be funny, but before he knows it, they’re sitting down, backs to the wall and shoes coming off.  The both smell like Scotch and they’re laughing their asses off.  They used to do stuff like this all the time and it feels like them. 

He likes it way too much.

“The Lower East Side,” he says quietly.  Eventually.  Like way after she made the statement and they got all riled up.

“That’s not very close.”

He doesn’t know what to say, so he shrugs.  It’s not very new and not very much like the grown-up him all at the same time.  It’s not like he told her he’d stay still, stay in the place she left him all those years ago.  In fact, he’d told her the opposite.  What did she expect?

His head can’t really be indignant about it, because she expects the same thing she’s always gotten from him.  Their whole lives, he was there for her and said she could count on him –always—and she knew where to find him.  Her not knowing where he’s lived for the last nine months is actually a pretty big deal.  On a day with a funeral, no matter how close the deceased was to them when she died, it doesn’t seem totally right.

“Grab your shoes,” he says finally.  They leave the Empire for the Lower East Side and don’t really look back and they don’t care who sees them, shoes in hand, walking out together, a little less than sober and in all kinds of disarray.  (With his “supervisors” behind them.  God.)

* * *

 _March_                                                                       

She shows up on his doorstep on a rainy afternoon.  He’s actually been working from home, a little under the weather, but nothing he can’t manage.  Well… until she’s there and she kind of looks exhausted and he wants to ask questions.  Mostly, he’s off his game because he doesn’t feel great and he’s surprised to see her, so he just lets her in without saying anything.  He offers her a small smile, because that’s exactly how much energy he has on him at that moment, and closes the door behind her before he crosses the apartment and finds his spot on the couch.  He pulls his laptop into his lap before he realizes she hasn’t come into the room very far at all.

“What?” He asks.  It isn’t the first time she’s been here, exactly, but she looks monumentally uncomfortable and completely uncertain.

“Did you… hire a _decorator_?” She asks, cocking her hip and setting a hand on it.  He knows it’s a modeling pose she’s used more than once and it’s no less attractive on her at twenty-five than it was on her at twelve or fifteen or eighteen or when they dated and she would model his shirts for him.  He never did find that blue one she loved after she moved out.  Anyway, he’s distracted, which he’ll blame on the Nyquil he took an hour ago, and she’s talking.  “I should be insulted.  No, _Blair_ should be insulted.”

“My mom,” he finally manages, needing to clear his throat.  She smiles and relaxes a little and moves to sit next to him.

“Don’t you get sick days?” Serena asks, and he wants to laugh.  She’s a lot of things, really, and she understands so many things about the real world.  She understands a lot of hard things.  A non-stop workload, how to function in a long-term job… not on the list of things she understands.  She gets bored too easily, which he learned the hard way when he tried to give her a job.

Actually, he does laugh.  He thought the smile used up his energy, but he was wrong.  The gentle laughter does it, but he can’t think of a better thing to use it on.

“No,” he says, still smiling fondly at her because she’s her.  If he still knows her, whether he’s sick or has work to do soon won’t matter.  She’s _really_ bad at stopping by for no reason.  Obviously.  He doesn’t even need to ask because she’ll tell him eventually.

“Do you remember when you told me you were here for me always?” She begins.  He’s glad for her voice, honestly, because it wakes him.  The sound of rain against the large window pane, placed to give him a view of a bunch of other buildings, was lulling him. 

He clears his throat again.  “Of course.”

“You look tired.”

“No _you_ look tired.  I look fine.  What were you saying?” He redirects neatly with some light teasing.

“Did that include my marriage failing?” She asks, her voice low.  “Because I could really use someone, and I’d like it to be you.  I don’t know why, it’s just always…”

There are a hundred ways he could finish the sentence she lets trail.  He doesn’t say a single one, though, he just sits there with her – right there, where he said he’d be.  This time, though, he’s waiting patiently like he said he wouldn’t.  It takes her a while to speak and, though his eyes are heavy and his head is medicine-cloudy, he doesn’t fall asleep while he waits.

“Dan is still grieving,” she finally says.  He closes his laptop and sets it aside like he should’ve done from the beginning.  He doesn’t _want_ to know but she needs to tell him.  “Maybe that’s all it is, but there’s this distance.  He doesn’t feel like he can talk to me about Jenny, and he’s absolutely right.  He’s never been able to before.”

Nate could guess who Dan had talked to about Jenny before; he sees where this is going but he just sits there and, contrary to the way the silence stretches between them, is interested to see what she says.

“I think he’s relying on Vanessa for support – but when he’s gone, it’s for a day or two at a time.”   She shakes her head.  “I’m not sure _what_ they’re doing.  I’m sure there’s a lot of talking and some drinking.  The thing that concerns me is how many of their private rituals they’re observing.  For as much as Dan likes to complain about our history… he has just as rich of a history with Vanessa.”

He opens his mouth to say something (he has no idea what it will be, even as he does), but he’s saved by a cough that he doesn’t want to admit has gotten away from him a little bit.  He doesn’t need to anyway because he feels the way she’s looking at him.

“You should probably get that checked,” she says.  “Your people aren’t taking care of you.”

And he really doesn’t want to get into it; maybe he reverts into some sort of small child when he doesn’t feel well or something, but he can’t stop the onslaught of thoughts – she was supposed to be one of his people.  She said she was always there for him, but it’s all somehow gotten away from them again.  Her people were supposed to take care of her so he wouldn’t have to go through this anymore.  The cough isn’t the most painful thing he’s faced in the past several minutes. 

He just shakes his head.  “I’m fine,” is all that actually comes out.  “It sounds like you need to talk to Dan.”

“I’m a little afraid of what he’ll say.”

The most steady thing about him is the way he looks at her.  He can’t help it—that will probably always be true.  “I can tell you what he isn’t going to say – you’re not your mother just because you guys hit a rough patch.  And he’s probably not even going to say –“ the next cough cuts him off and she won’t let him finish.

She isn’t like her mother for other reasons, though.  She makes soup – he can only assume either Rufus or Dan has taught her how – from the meager offerings of his kitchen, forces him to eat it and then drink a bunch of water.  He isn’t sure how long she stays, since she’s gone the next morning when he wakes up, but he knows she was there when he finally fell asleep. 


	2. April-June

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'We are your family and no one knows where you are.' 
> 
> He thinks about it way too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I know this is implied and covered somewhere on the website's disclosures, but I don't own Gossip Girl, and even if I could finish this in a timely manner, I probably wouldn't make money off it. No infringement is intended.

_April_

There was supposed to be a birthday party; there may still be one.  He honestly doesn’t care.

He has to go identify a body – his dad’s – at the prison instead.  His mother refuses, on the grounds of being divorced with only an adult son (so no ties – bullshit), so he goes alone and leaves his phone on his kitchen counter.  He can’t handle canceling and answering questions and burying his father on the same day. 

He just… he can’t.  So he doesn’t.

* * *

_May_

His campaign releases a statement, because his manager says it will help stop the overflowing voicemail of things demanding his attention.  All the statement says, really, is he’s tending to a family matter and requests respect for his privacy.

The only message he listens to is Chuck’s, mostly because it’s first.  It’s probably first because Chuck has kind of become the figurehead for his personal life – for all their personal lives. 

 _We are your family and no one knows where you are_.

He thinks about it way too much.

 _They’re_ a family –Chuck, Blair, and Henry. Even Serena and Dan; technically Nate is Henry’s godfather or whatever, but Serena is the other half of that and where she goes, Dan goes so… by unofficial rites, Dan is actually the godfather.  Whatever kids Serena and Dan may have in the future will be part of the same family.  That’s just the way it goes. 

It’s been really hard to feel like he’s the figurehead of his family, but in a lot of ways he always has been.  It makes him feel old and lonely to realize it and, honestly, he doesn’t want to bother their young family with any of it.  So he does what he’s been doing and he doesn’t listen to the rest of his messages and he goes back to work without another word to the family that doesn’t feel like his because of lines he’s drawn.

* * *

_June_

For the first time in the history of ever, Nate opts out of spending any time at the Vanderbilts’ home in the Hamptons for the summer.  His mother will be there and, though he isn’t a coward most of the time, he doesn’t want to deal with her just then.  It’s easy enough to claim work so that’s what he does.

If he’s being honest, though, summer in the Hamptons has been tough for a long while now and it’s one of the first years in recent memory he’s had an excuse not to go.  Burying himself in work is easier than hearing his grandfather’s comments, seeing Tripp because God only knows _that_ relationship will never be the same and he’d like to punch the guy in the face to this day, and facing his mom.  Burying anger and letting it pass will always be easier than blowing up at people who sometimes support him (as long as he’s doing what they want him to do.)

By the time the temperature spikes in the concrete jungle, near the end of the month, and he’s a little desperate for sight of the water or beach, he’s _really_ wishing he would’ve gone to the Hamptons.  He gets home from work, extremely late, and Serena’s camped out on the floor near his door—which would obviously not be the case if he were anywhere else.  Apparently her charm, directed at the doorman who Nate swears should be named “Skeptic”, only got her onto the elevator.  It didn’t actually get her into his apartment.

The first thing she does is slap him.  And then she hugs him.  She follows him into the main room, watches him set his bag down on the table behind the couch and toss his keys on top of it, and doesn’t actually stop following him as he goes back into his bedroom.  He honestly doesn’t even think about it until his shirt is halfway open.

“Were you planning on talking at all?” He asks, shooting for amused but really just sounding tired – because he is.  “Or was physical abuse and stalking the only plan?”

He’s in the walk-in closet with his pants off, reaching for a pair of mesh athletic shorts, when she finally talks and he realizes, with a start, she isn’t standing all that far from him.

“A _family_ thing?  And then no word for two months?  And then everyone is in the Hamptons, telling Henry they’re _sure_ you’ll be there because you always are but – nothing?  Was that the plan?”

“Yeah,” he says.  He wasn’t actually planning on wearing a shirt because it’s hot, but… she’s there and it feels like that requires a shirt.  He tugs a tank top over his head and then turns toward her.  “Look, Serena, it’s like you guys have a club.  I used to be a part of it but… I’m not now.  You guys are married, children, birthday parties… anniversaries… old traditions.”  He realizes he’s using her words from months ago against her – he’s listing the things she told him he was missing.  He just hadn’t realized, until he started talking, he was missing those things because he doesn’t feel all that welcome.  “I’m not.”

“Aren’t you a little young for a mid-life crisis and marrying down?”

He sighs and buries his face in his hands.  There was a time when she asked if he was ever happy – and now he’s thinking he could finally answer her question.  He’s been happy plenty of times and he’s even mastered the art of being half-happy and secretly not-so-happy.  With a deep breath, he brushes away the not-so-happy parts and pulls his hands away from his face.  He offers the best smirk he can muster up.  “Who said anything about marrying down?  If you ask Metro New York, I’m our generation’s answer to Clooney – which implies I’m not marrying at all until I’m pushing sixty.”

She swings her fist at his bicep.  “I’m _serious_ , Nate.”

“So am I,” he says with a sigh.

“If you’re not secretly dating someone, then where have you been?”  She’s standing right in the doorway of his closet, hand on hip and frown on face and he’s pretty sure she isn’t moving until he answers.  “The last time you disappeared like this, you were living in an FBI seizure with your sleeping bag.”

For as good as she’s always been at running, she has her moments when she holds her ground.  Sometimes he even hates them.

Nate swallows hard and realizes he hasn’t said the words out loud, at all.  His campaign manager was standing in front of him when he got the phone call from the prison, and she took care of everything.  All he could tell his mother was ‘it’s about dad’ before she refused to do anything.  Whether she told anyone else, he doesn’t know. 

He’s not going to cry.  That doesn’t mean his throat doesn’t taste salty and his voice doesn’t shake when he says the words out loud, to someone who will recognize the significance of it.

“Serena,” he says first.  It’s like a tester to make sure he can say anything, but it sounds like a tired and breathless reprimand for her pushing.  Maybe it’s a little bit of that, too.  He looks down.  “My dad, um… he died the day before my birthday—in prison.”

He has no idea how long she – and they – stand where they are, but it feels like forever.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”  Is what she finally comes up with.

Once, she wanted him to understand her issues with her dad and ended up thinking he didn’t get it or was being too pushy.  He’s surprised to realize he’s in the same position _now_.  He just wants her to understand and not ask questions.  He doesn’t want to explain how the last time he saw his father was on Howard’s birthday in January or how his mom doesn’t want much to do with that family.  He doesn’t want to explain that he’s become incredibly private about that kind of stuff because it’s the only privacy he’s got anymore – and he really wishes he had enough of it he didn’t have to explain it, even to her.  Obviously if she’s asking, she doesn’t get it.

The other part he can barely admit to himself is he doesn’t want to talk about it, not now and hopefully not ever, because he’s afraid he won’t _stop_.  He didn’t drink for his dad – because _that’s_ who he lost.  He lost the man who had somehow managed to become respectable, at least to Nate, despite his mistakes and in a whole new way.  He lost the hope that he’d get to see his dad again, looking happy and free and not wearing prison orange (again.  Maybe for real.)  He lost so much he isn’t sure he could put it into words, and he really doesn’t want them to look at him and see what he’s lost, because in a lot of ways, he’s lost them already, too.

And the other thing is, dads are always a sensitive topic for their little group, to anyone who isn’t Dan.  Blair’s dad lives in France after (long after) the incredibly painful breakup of her family and, though they’ve gotten some of it back, it isn’t the same and never will be.  Chuck’s dad… well.  There’s so much to say about Bart Bass that there’s nothing needing to be said.  Serena is a poster child for daddy-abandonment issues and problems and, when her dad did come back, he screwed her entire family over.

It takes a long time.  He just shakes his head.  “I’m so tired,” he says.  That wasn’t what he meant to say, but it’s true and he supposes it’s enough of an answer.  “I don’t want to do this.  I just want to eat… something.  Maybe.  And go to bed.”

Rather than heeding his request, she steps forward.  He doesn’t see it coming, really, and that may or may not explain why he just stays where he stands.  She hooks her hands on either side of his face like she used to do when they were together and she was saying something important.  It makes it hard to breathe, though, like everything else and God… he just really doesn’t want to talk about this so he stubbornly refuses to meet her eyes.  He drops his head and closes his eyes instead.  

She brushes her thumbs over the apples of his cheeks, under his eyes.  “You look tired, Natie.”

There’s some breathing and trying not to remember – she used to call him that all the time.  When they were kids and his parents were in the next room and everything was just that close and simple.  When everything was still _possible_. There were other times she touched him like this, called him that, and it wasn’t nearly as simple.  He takes another a breath and pushes it all away.

He rolls his shoulder and looks at her with a smile, small but genuine, and recalls his words from one of her other visits.  “You look tired.  I look fine.”

She rolls her eyes instead of her shoulder and smiles a little, pulls her hands away from him.  “So… food?”

Nate huffs out a breath and is really, really not sure what there is in his kitchen.  He honestly doesn’t know what day of the week it is, so he doesn’t know if the housekeeper he employs has done his shopping recently.  “What about it?  I hear it cancels out hunger.”

Her smile brightens and even comes with a small laugh.  “You don’t know if you’ve _got_ food, do you?”

“I’m pretty sure I have a kitchen around here somewhere,” he teases.  “Maybe we should check there first.”  His smile fades, not in a bad way, but she finally lets him walk out of the closet.  “Does that mean you’re staying?”

“Wild horses couldn’t drag me away,” she says with a dramatic toss off her hair.

“Especially because I keep them at my country house.”

“Since when do you have a country house?  You don’t even leave the city for the Hamptons anymore.”

He comes to a stop in the kitchen and he shrugs.  “Fine, you caught me.  No country house.  No horses—not even wild ones.”

She winks at him and pulls the fridge open.  “And no food,” she adds with a laugh.  “We’re going to have to order in.” 

(He likes the number of times they’ve used the word ‘we’ to say much else and he totally lets her order Chinese even though it’s late and he probably shouldn’t.)


	3. July-September

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a time when summer was their season. She wants it again. She wants it hard enough it’s drowning out all logic about them being adults now, about the ring still sitting like a heavy stone on her finger, about all the ways they’ve let each other down between then and now.
> 
> The logic doesn’t make her smile any dimmer than the sun when he sits down beside her while she’s lost in thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Gossip Girl, or Matt Nathanson's 'Farewell December', they just started wheels in my brain turning.

_July_

She’s getting what he was thinking when he skipped out on his own birthday party.  Not because she’s got family drama going down, exactly, but because it’s a lot of pressure.  It all used to be so simple when there was a birthday—Blair would orchestrate a cavalcade of caterers, a flotilla of friends, and a bountiful bar (as they got older.)  They would shop, pick out clothes, then eat, drink, dance, and laugh themselves sick.  It was _fun_.  She doesn’t remember it being quite this much pressure.

If she hears Blair’s distaste laced through the word ‘barbecue’ one more time, she’s going to tell her lifelong best friend to politely piss off, steal the bottle of vodka she’s been eyeing as the grill technician uses it in intervals to make the sauce he’s brushing over skewers, and walk up the beach by herself.

Then she won’t know if he decided to make the drive, though.  The gentle suspense is the only thing keeping her ass on this padded bench, no matter how comfortable it is.

Everyone is more caught up in the other absence; they haven’t said anything about Nate.  Of course, no one knows they’ve talked, really.  He finally replied to a text from Blair to explain that his dad died.  He made it sound like he had more on his plate with that than he does.  How much of an estate does his father really have to settle?  He’s been in and out of jail since they were in high school, and Anne Archibald got everything in their divorce since he was incarcerated.  He certainly wasn’t out long enough to build anything he could leave Nate.  And Nate had already taken care of his dad’s debts. 

Anyway, the text is how the information leaked through their group of friends, months after the fact.  No one knows she made him gag down really bad Chinese food and tucked him into bed after she showed up to smack him for being absent which, really, made more sense and felt more organic in the moment than it does now when she’s sitting here missing him just a little.

Henry is a whirlwind and he buzzes past her.  She tries to grasp him for a distracting hug, but it’s too hot to do much and she can’t catch him anyway.  It seems her typical problem with men even applies to her God son – can’t catch them and, on the off-chance she does, she can’t hold them.

Part of the reason she wants him to come is so she can tell him in person what her birthday present to herself was – she filed divorce papers.  Dan’s present to her was telling her last week that he’s been having an affair with Vanessa.  Of course, the words he said were wrapped in grief and loaded with placation, so she’d understand the loss of his sister was really hard on him.  He didn’t necessarily want to lose her, too.  In an abstract way, she understands because she very nearly lost Eric and that panic overruled her self-preservation and brought her back to the city a lifetime ago.  Understanding and tolerating aren’t the same thing, though, and she told him they were already lost.  She wants to tell Nate he’s the only person who’s never cheated on her.  He may not have stood still for her, but he said he wouldn’t when she let him go.

Also, he cheated _with_ her, but that’s a little different and she knows it was a one-time thing.  He’s usually a lot clearer on lines and things than she is.  She drew a big one yesterday and, even if she’s still wearing her ring and not answering questions about why Dan isn’t here, she wants to tell him right now.  She isn’t going to get into all the reasons she wants that.

(They might have a lot to do with how at home she felt in his apartment, though, the times she’s been there and taking care of him.  She’s never felt that steady sense of belonging with someone else and she craves it like Blair craves macarons when she’s pregnant. Or any other time.)

Her eyes are far out toward the horizon, looking over the waves where they break, sometimes not so gently.  The sky is an endless, cloudless blue and the sun is relentless.  There’s nothing to break her gaze or command her attention.  The soundtrack of Chuck explaining something to Henry, Blair reiterating to _someone_ that they need umbrellas and more water crowned with orange slices, her mother and Eric chatting quietly about something, it’s all background.  It’s a dull roar and nothing more.

There was a time when summer was _their_ season.  She wants it again.  She wants it hard enough it’s drowning out all logic about them being adults now, about the ring still sitting like a heavy stone on her finger, about all the ways they’ve let each other down between then and now.

The logic doesn’t make her smile any dimmer than the sun when he sits down beside her while she’s lost in thought. 

“You made it,” she says, her voice bright but low.  “I was wondering if you’d come out of your man cave.”

His laugh is low but light.  “It’s your birthday,” he says.  He didn’t care about his own birthday; he cares about hers.  The sentiment is just as clear as his eyes and her smile.  “The Hamptons on your birthday is normal.  I need some normal.” 

“I need some _you_ ,” she says, leaning toward him a little.  “I…”

She starts to tell him, the disconcerting openness she can only sometimes rein in around him on full display today.  Henry cuts her off.

“Nate!” 

He’s a barrel of energy, and she’s interrupted, and Nate’s gone, but he’s _here_.  She’s happy, even if she can’t blurt out what she wants to say because he’s being clapped on the shoulder by Chuck, bitched at (gently) by Blair, and he’s him—drawing people in and accidentally commanding attention she knows he doesn’t really want. 

His being here is actually the only thing she wanted for her birthday and, once the gift is on lock, she can admit it to herself.

The food, including the praline caramel crunch birthday cake Blair had decorated to perfection, is gone and the sun is on its way out before she gets the chance to slip away.  There are fireworks planned, specifically because Serena and Henry share an unnatural love of sparklers, but they’re not happening until after dark.  There’s a bonfire planned for after Henry’s bedtime.  The whole day on the beach has been one thing after another and this time between dusk is really what she gets to slip her shoes off and walk along the water’s edge down the beach a ways.

She shouldn’t be surprised he sees her sneaking off and follows. 

“You’ve only got one shoe in your hand,” she comments lightly when he falls into step.

“Yeah, Henry chucked the other one in the water about an hour ago and I couldn’t find it,” he admits with a laugh.  It pulls a laugh from her because she knows he doesn’t care.  They walk in comfortable silence, that easy gait of enjoying someone’s company, for a while before he speaks.  He’s not hesitant, though, and she wonders how many of his steps were guided by him building his composure.  It’s how he is, at times.  With her.  He says what he means to say.  “So… someone’s missing today.  What happened?”

“If you mean Dan… he’s been missing for a while.  He hasn’t been the same since Jenny died.  You know that.”

“I do,” he says.  The words are spoken like a comma, though, edging her forward.  She _wants_ to tell him; she just doesn’t have the same well-spoken qualities he does.  Her composure is almost as big of a mess as her ponytail after a day at the beach.

She knows she pulls it off, but that doesn’t make it any more organized.

“I told you he was spending a lot of time with Vanessa—days at a time.  We went to a grief counselor, tried a relationship coach to help us communicate better.  It didn’t work, though.  We’re just… different.  I couldn’t help him.”  She clears her throat.  “He cheated on me.  An affair, actually, with Vanessa.  He apologized and wanted to go back to the therapist but I said no.  I filed for divorce this morning.”

He doesn’t look surprised, but other than that, she can’t read his face in the small, quick glances she’s taking.  Again with the long pause, the organizing his words.  The political grooming coming to play in their relationship in a gentle way she doesn’t hate.  His hand slipping into his pocket tells her she somehow rattled him, though, and it’s taking effort for him to figure it out before he speaks.  “You were there for me when my dad died.  You helped me.”  He swallows hard and she feels a rise of… something at his words.  Something warm.  He’s building her up.  “He’s an _idiot_.”

She laughs, genuinely, for the first time all day.  She hasn’t been sad about filing for divorce, hasn’t had time yet to completely beat herself up for what it says about her shortcomings or her becoming a person she doesn’t want to be.

He somehow managed, with a few well-placed words, to head that off before she got to it.  Now if she tries to second-guess herself in the way she does, she’ll hear what he just said.

He’s still really good at this, at knowing her and saying a blend of what she needs to hear and the truth.

He also didn’t say he’s sorry.  She doesn’t think he is sorry—not even a little bit.  And he’s polite, but he isn’t polite enough to lie.

His honesty and his presence are the only things she actually needed for her birthday.  In true form, she didn't totally recognize it before it's smacking her in the face.

She doesn't know how long they walk before they turn around, a text message from Blair beckoning them back in the direction they came, but they don't say another word and it’s perfect.

* * *

  _August_

He's pretty sure he's dying.  The heat in the city is unbearable and the mudslinging in the election is going full force.  He’s either going to sweat to death or get buried alive – one metaphorical and one not so much.  Someone somehow is finding dirt from high school and he's never wanted to stab a person quite like he wants to stab Gossip Girl for documenting every youthful indiscretion they ever made when it should all be sealed, locked, and forgotten.

Which feels poetic in a way because it means he wants to stab Dan.  The trouble is he can't _say_ that because Dan is an actual person and people now have a tendency to take Nate’s words seriously.  That’s a good thing for a mayor or an editor, not as much of a good thing for a homicidal detour. 

So he does what any self-respecting maniac would do: he hides on the roof at the Empire, tie loose and collar undone.  He put the bottle of vodka in the freezer before he brought it, so at least it's cold.  Or it used to be.  He just needs some space, some time, and the perspective to remember he's no longer the kid whose dad took a swing at him in front of a cop, or the boy the FBI threatened to arrest for being an accessory and concealing a fugitive’s whereabouts.  He’s also not quite the guy who threw himself under the bus for the sake of Trip’s first Congressional election, either.

Each item his opponent rattled off was a bullet point with an explanation he isn't dignifying with a response.  It just hurts like hell to remember what a mess his life became and he needs to hit the fast forward button so he can stop feeling like that same messed up kid.  He shouldn't laugh when Blair shows up first, but he does.

“Lost the coin toss, huh?” He jokes.  He fixes half-sober blue eyes on her and shakes his head.  “I believe there will be none of this for you,” he starts, indicating the bottle of vodka. He got a phone call shortly after Serena’s birthday telling him Blair was freshly pregnant with his next Godchild.  He still hasn't found time (or energy) to properly congratulate Chuck just yet.  “But I've got plenty of scorching hot rooftop to go around if you want to sit down.”

She raises an eyebrow and doesn't sit.  He's not sure he's ever seen her sit on the ground.  Maybe one time when she was really drunk, but it isn't _her_ ancient history that's being exhumed today, so she isn’t.  Even if he feels angry, it isn't directed at her and he isn't going to pretend it is or make her hurt, too.  He's going to sit here until he replaces everything he's bottled up so carefully over the years with the contents of a different and less metaphorical bottle.

“If that's your way of saying congratulations on our second child, it could use some work,” she finally says, resting her hand on the concrete atop the low brick wall he's resting against.  She looks at the view for some time before she speaks.  “I've been following the election.  And I know you got caught up in the middle of a divorce today.  That's what _really_ happened.  You deserve better.  So no, I didn't draw the short stick.  Chuck has a plan.  Chuck and _Serena_ are working on it together.”  Even her profile looks disbelieving as her lips turn up at the corner and she shakes her head a little.  “My part is making sure you don't jump off the roof because of things that happened a lifetime ago.”

He smiles and spins the bottle slowly in his hands, the outline of a Snow Queen reflected back at him in what looks like the cover for some trashy novel his mom would never admit to reading but would, in fact, read.

“Do I look like jumper material?” He finally asks.  “I’m sitting down, for one thing.  And I’m not even on the ledge.” He sighs.  “I never am.”

“No,” she acknowledges.  “That’s true.  You also never say what you’re thinking to anyone.  Except maybe Serena,” she adds.  She has the grace to not even sound bitter.  “All of a sudden, this _does_ feel like I’m talking to you in high school.”

He makes a scoffing noise and shifts a little because his ass is starting to fall asleep.  “Well, maybe I am still that guy.  I don’t get picked for things.  I don’t know why I thought the city picking me would happen any differently.  I’m just the nice guy, the friend, the pal who doesn’t fight dirty.”

She shoots him a look that threatens to melt the bottle in his hand – or at least crack it.

“And you’re the only one left standing in the end,” she says simply.

“Are you calling me the _default_?” He asks skeptically.  His voice is light.  “That’s rude.”

She laughs a little and shakes her head.  “No, I’m calling you graceful and courageous under fire.  Don’t make me take it back.”

Blair may be one of his oldest friends and not a person who is prone to giving unwarranted praise – ever.  She also generally avoids giving warranted praise—and she called him _graceful_.  He doesn’t know what to do with that.  He doesn’t feel graceful.  He feels flattened, defeated before the primary is even here.  For once, though, he doesn’t feel alone.  It’s been a long year, a year of shutting himself off and plowing ahead with his busy professional life at the expense of his personal life.  He hasn’t wanted to bother them, hasn’t troubled them with most of his stuff, and even still Blair shows up.   

“So how do I handle this _gracefully_?”  He asks, his voice dropping on the last word. 

“Your campaign manager already has your statement,” she says.  Her lips press together, not really hiding her smile as she looks over at him.  Of course she wrote a statement for him.  “You finish your drink and your pity party and then let her make your statement.  Then you say nothing else.  So it’s all in your skillset.”

“Are you saying all I’m good for is sitting here, drinking, and looking pretty?”

“Yes, Archibald.  It’s about time you caught on.”  Her voice is wry, but her smile is unmistakable.

He’s kind of missed her.

They make mostly small talk and avoid painful topics for a long time.

 Serena and Chuck appear at some point.  Nate might be through a good portion of the vodka, and he might be down to his tanktop and slacks, but he sees them immediately and smiles, stands up so he can give them a hug.  His chat with Blair and his solo bar time have done wonders for his mood.  He holds onto Serena just a little bit longer than the others.

It _does_ feel kind of just like high school.  Except it’s better than high school ever was, because they turned out in quiet support of one another, Gossip Girl didn’t overshare about it because their last names made them more interesting, and no one pulled anyone else’s hair or sent the courtyard a kilo. 

And when they leave, it’s in the right pairs.

* * *

 _September_  


The only thing that sucks worse, he thinks, than mudslinging debates about ancient history instead of current events is a _primary election_.  His grandfather, and the sycophants his grandfather likes to call ‘staffers,’ have been stuck in his ear or somewhere within arm’s reach since the last debate got away from him a little bit.  It’s been way too long (about a month) since he got to do anything by himself – and that includes bathroom breaks.

If he doesn’t pause too long to think about particulars, he feels a little sorry for Tripp because this has been Tripp’s whole life.  At least Nate is in the situation he’s in by choice.   Tripp wasn’t even allowed to take an elective in college without approval from Grandfather’s committee.  The committee liked to approve things like golf or ‘tea with dignitaries.’  Nate remembers, from before punches were thrown and a line was drawn between the boys with trademark Vanderbilt blue eyes, that Tripp really liked anthropology.  He finds himself wondering if Tripp got to take more than the general-ed level class that had sparked the interest. 

(He then discards even the momentary interest because it’s been a long, long time since he had a one-on-one conversation with his cousin and he’s fine keeping it that way.  Tripp left Serena in a wrecked car, bleeding from the head, with the blame and the labels associated with being a mistress. Nate has learned that’s the outer limit of his forgiveness.  They’re never coming back from that crap.) 

Also, if he hears someone say the college electives and guiding force of the Vanderbilt political machine might be the difference between being President of the United States and being mayor of New York City _one more time_ , he’s going to… yell at them.  A lot.

The difference to _him_ is he actually wants the mayor position.  He doesn’t want to be President, to be under armed guard and have someone taste his food before he eats.  He doesn’t want to leave his family in a big, mostly empty house on Pennsylvania Ave for dangerous trips to negotiate with people who have questionable morals.  He doesn’t want to use a loose definition for ethics to get into a position of power.  He hasn’t traveled enough to have a deep, abiding love for his country.  Of course he’s at least vaguely patriotic, but not as much as he’s a resident of Manhattan proper.  He _loves_ New York – New York City in particular.  He hasn’t ever been able to bring himself to leave in a permanent way, even when he spent a long time thinking he wanted to go to USC instead of an Ivy.  He traded that in for staying local, never regretted it, and that’s why he’s been content to dream small enough to aim for that particular office.  He loves the city, he knows it inside and out, and he wants to be on the government side of taking care of it.  

That love shines through, keeps him in the race, and carries him through Election Day.  It carries him around interparty mudslinging, through ancient history, and through to the November round of elections.  He knows he’s a difficult opponent for the democrat he’s running against because he doesn’t fall along typical party lines.  He’s young, energetic, handsome, and has built a successful newspaper from the ground up.  His family has enough money he doesn’t actually _need_ to affiliate with a party for political purposes, but he did anyway.  He’s educated, articulate, and actually has a few ideas about what he wants to focus on in office.  Thanks to his now-lost opponent, he’s more relatable because he’s been touched by prison, influenced by drugs without succumbing to the lifestyle himself, and built a successful and recognizable business with a few missteps along the way that he handled.  He’s honest enough to admit he’s smoked joints in the past and that he didn’t have a ‘regular’ job until he started the newspaper.  He isn’t honest enough to admit he’s been unfaithful or he’s thrown someone under the bus for conduct unbecoming.  He learned from those mistakes anyway and has been careful not to repeat them – which means he doesn’t need to reveal those distinctly personal things in a campaign.  In short, while he fronts it all with a pretty face, he’s so much more than that.

The most personal he gets during the election is after he’s won the primary.  He’s looking around the cocktail celebration, wondering where his personal touch is.  He’s come a long way from touch (shove) football on the lawn at the estate or pot stashed in the library.  Sometimes it felt like the Vanderbilts were dragging him, kicking and screaming, but he’s mostly okay with the party and the climate. This is all swank, tuxedos and expensive champagne, with lobbyists and politicians and donors lining up to shake his hand and talk strategy/positions/what he can do for them.  It’s a life he’s eased into and he’s grateful for the success it signifies.

It’s just… he doesn’t recognize a single person in this crowd as someone he hand-chose to be there.   There is no Chuck, no Blair, no childhood friends.  There are no former lacrosse teammates, no fellow former interns… no one he’s _friends_ with even in the present.  He’s been arguing to himself for a long time that he’s friends with the people around him, but people who want something from him (other than to celebrate) aren’t his friends.  Not _really_.  He’s matured enough to recognize the difference.

There’s no way he can make a phone call.  It’s loud and he can’t excuse himself from the constant conversation.  He’s the man of the hour, and it gets to the point he’s barely taking it in stride.  In spite of the fact it’s deemed rude, he can send a text.  He figures that will be a better alternative to losing his composure and snapping at someone.  So he sends ‘ _Pls come, Plaza hotel conf rm 3.’_  

(That’s all he can manage because it’s enough and it only takes her half of all eternity to get there.  He might be exaggerating, but he’s really sick of talking about the city’s zoning plans for 53rd street.  Just for tonight, he’d like to stop.)

She looks like she spent all night getting ready when she arrives.  Part of him wonders, as he takes in her glowing appearance, if she was just waiting for his message.  She knows him well enough to know he’d get a little desperate, but she’s come a long way from the pushy party crasher.  Not to mention, with the aforementioned Tripp Vanderbilt scandal, she doesn’t walk into the lion’s den without some sort of shield.  That’s his job and has been since he threw punches to earn it. 

A hand on his arm and an air-kiss to each of his cheeks like they’re in Paris is all it takes for him to feel like his night has turned around.  Since his night wasn’t that bad to begin with – because winning will always be pretty awesome –that’s saying something.

“You held out longer than I thought you would,” she teases in his ear as she settles her hand into the crook of his elbow.  “I’m impressed.  And I feel like I should probably get you a drink.”

A freshly loaded tray of champagne flutes walks by rather conveniently.  He loves it when things like that happen.  His reach pauses the waiter long enough for his one-handed self to pass one to Serena (his date?) and grab one for himself. 

“I didn’t need you to _save_ me,” he teases, his mood lighter than air.  “I just needed some arm candy.”

Her jaw drops and a laugh stutters out.  “Is that what I am to you?”

Of course he tells her that isn’t, and he goes on throughout the night to try and sneak in snippets of words that explain it all a little better.  The paparazzi doesn’t catch any of that, though.  They catch his laugh, her jaw drop, and he finds himself in a public relationship with her all over again, because somehow, saying they’re ‘old friends’ falls short and saying they’re ‘new friends’ sounds a little too dirty for something so bright.


	4. October-December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate was never quite as clueless with those things as he led them to believe. He’s kind of a peace-disturber sometimes, just in a gentle way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Still don't own Gossip Girl or Matt Nathanson's 'Farewell December.'

_October_

“No, Nate, I don’t think you can wear your pinstripe suit and get away with being a gangster or a mob boss for Halloween.  There are so many reasons that won’t work,” Blair says pointedly.  He rolls his eyes and sighs, resituating his best ‘I’m listening’ face before she continues.  “Pick something classic and inoffensive if you’re running for public office and actually want to win.”

Serena’s sitting on the floor with Henry, the party favors for his class spread out on the floor around her.  Blair insisted they could purchase something, but then Henry went and acted like a _kid_ , heaven forbid, and wanted items that had to come from several different stores.  In the spirit of being newly single and kind of lonely in her beautiful new Lower East Side condo, and after very little ‘godparent guilt tripping’, Serena agreed to help Henry assemble the things.  She’s up to her ears, metaphorically, in paper monsters and fake vampire teeth.  She kind of loves it and it shows.

Nate, meanwhile, has tonight off from the campaign trail.  He won’t be free to take Henry trick-or-treating as he wants to do so badly, so he brought trick-or-treating to Henry two days before Halloween proper.   What that means is he’s sprawled on the leather couch in Blair and Chuck’s living room, exhausted, and pretending he might make the couch his new mailing address.  He doesn’t really even have the energy to raise the beer resting on his jeans-clad knee to his mouth often enough it’ll get empty before it gets warm.  He does, however, have the energy to toss Serena a wink while Blair is in the middle of a stern lecture on what sort of Halloween costume he should wear to the fundraising costume dinner he’ll be at on Halloween.  Blair’s been going for at least fifteen minutes and he’s waiting about ten more before he acquiesces.  He thinks it’s fun to rile her up once in a while, much to Chuck’s chagrin.  Nate was never quite as clueless with those things as he led them to believe.  He’s kind of a shit disturber sometimes, just in a gentle way.

The thing is, Serena knows he’s got a sandwich board in his closet made up to look like the King of Hearts face card, and a fake crown sitting on his dresser.  They’ve been spending a fair amount of time together, either setting up her apartment or hanging out at his.  Regardless, she isn’t saying anything to Blair about the innocuous costume he already has. She doesn’t want to get involved. She just presses her lips together hard to avoid smiling when they make eye contact and shakes her head at him. 

They’ve been trying to lay low, given the amount of publicity they got at the primary election party.  It’s starting to die down and they would both like to keep it that way.  They’ve talked it over, at least superficially, and think it’s in both their best interests to avoid more press.  He’s busy and her divorce isn’t quite final, in spite of the fact Dan moved out of their apartment and straight into Vanessa’s.  Serena lingered to sell their place and struggled to find one of her own.

(Her new condo is one floor above Nate’s.  While that wasn’t the reason she bought it, it does make sneaking in some quality time easier when he’s free.  It isn’t like he protested one bit.)

“Nathaniel, you have the power to end my wife’s misery and, by extension, your own.  I suggest doing so now and then we can leave them to this and have our nightcap,” Chuck says as he steps off the Bass’ personal elevator.  He’s been working late, finishing a deal with someone in California and bitching about the time difference making him work late rather than making his investors work early. Nate has heard at least 60% of what his childhood best friend said and he doesn't know what to say, so he says nothing.  This time, with this subject, he knows what to say, but he doesn't want to.  He stays silent yet again for completely new reasons. He just shrugs and drinks his beer.  Serena actually laughs out loud.

“Tell them or I will,” she promises in a sing-song voice.

“Fun hater,” Nate counters as his eyes slipped closed.  Even when he's not looking, he can feel Blair’s eyes shifting between them.

“Are you two back together?” Blair asks.

“No, but we have matching Halloween costumes that don't require weapons,” Serena says.  Nate actually dozes off to the melodic sound of Serena's voice explaining his costume and hers (the Queen of Hearts from Alice of Wonderland) and wakes up to her attempting to stick leftover plastic vampire teeth into his mouth.

He's had way worse alarm clocks and stumbles his way through four of Henry's book as his ‘punishment’ for upsetting Blair before he's allowed to go home. 

Actually, he's had worse punishments than that, too, and finds himself quietly thinking maybe it wouldn't be so bad to allow himself these kinds of family nights a little more often than he has been. 

* * *

_November_

He's the fucking mayor of New York. 

He's aware he was running, obviously, but he wasn't expecting to be successful because he's young and underqualified.  He doesn't look like a mayor on paper because he's stunningly average like he's always been.  Yes, he runs a newspaper and hasn't run it into the ground; yes, he has always been called Golden Boy and seemed to get everything without doing much to earn it.  The truth has always been a little south of what it seems, though, and he didn't actually expect to get this.

It takes him four days to return Serena's call, not because he doesn't want to speak to her but because that's how long it takes him to get through messages that pile up faster than he can triage.  That's not including his email because Forget It (with a capital F.)

That means it takes him four days to hear she's left town, indefinitely, with Carter Baizen.

(It feels like high school and his worst nightmare because he wants to show her everything, but he can't.)

He drinks his way through Thanksgiving, partly because he’s still really hurt at his Mom’s actions from the Spring and partly because it’s easy to pass it off as celebrating with his family.

Mostly it’s because, if he’s drunk, the security staff around him will take away his phone to prevent any problematic social media posts.  If he doesn’t have his phone, he won’t try to call her or, worse, send anything to _her_.  He doesn’t want to do that this time, not when they only thing going wrong in his life is her. 

He’s got too much going for him to get sucked back into all this old drama again.  If someone could just remind his heart of that, it’d be much appreciated.

* * *

_December_

Christmas is sort of a wash.  There are the family parties, and he shares a largely silent glass of wine with his mom in a quiet room at the Vanderbilt gathering that feels like the only real reconciliation he’ll probably ever get.  She gives him a watch and he gives her an antique vase he saw when he guest-hosted an auction during his campaign.  She doesn’t ask him to spend the night with the family like she’s going to; he returns to the city in time to give Henry a present on Christmas proper.  He’s there ahead of Serena, and though the Bass family tries to meddle, he leaves before her scheduled arrival on purpose.

She left him a long message, one he actually got sort of promptly, to explain her trip.  Carter, the king of sketch and shade, was able to somehow finagle a quick divorce for her.  It allowed her to keep her trust fund and all other financial things intact, since she wasn’t cautious enough for a prenup.  Because Carter is the king of sketch and shade, he attached a few strings.  She wanted the divorce, so she played those strings, not unlike a violin.  She’s never been much of an actual musician, but she admits she played Carter to get what she wanted. 

Whether it’s because Nate’s a Serena van der Woodsen apologist, he doesn’t know, but he _gets_ her explanation.  He accepts it.  He’s just not entirely sure he’s ready to embrace what it all _means_.  He’s never been the sort of guy who is scared to follow his heart, but he’s scared of the way he tried his best to fall apart in the wake of another departure of hers.  He’s just really glad there were barriers in place to stop him this time; last time he went off the rails a bit, with Chuck’s help.  This time, he stayed off his official Twitter and Insta accounts ( _God_ ), and stayed his course.    

Somehow, over the last year, it turns out he’s let her in.  He loves her.  Their friendship had never been destroyed by all the things they went through, but it had been carefully tucked away and stored by both of them.  During the last year, it’s come out of the drawers and the closets, reunited with their present-day selves, and become something less turbulent because of their own adult stability.  While that stability isn’t perfect, they are a lot more grown-up now than they ever were as a pair before (obviously.)  Grown-up him is boldly and unabashedly imagining teasing her about being his arm candy while she’s making her own contribution, doing whatever she wants to do in the city she loves.  Like, he’s imagining it years into the future.  He can’t imagine her having a serious job like his, but he can imagine her doing something inventive and grass-roots that will change something serious and important if she wants.

He’s just not entirely sure how to say that without scaring her off.  Forgive him for being just a little older and a little wiser where she’s concerned, okay?  Maybe he’s a little too naïve and optimistic still, because he thinks he’s going to have to let her come to him on this one.

It doesn’t hurt entirely that, traditionally, New York City’s mayor is sworn in on New Year’s Day.  It means he needs to keep things low-key, according to his campaign-turned-office manager.  About the only place he can manage it, and still be alone, is on the roof at the Empire.  There’s a private elevator that goes straight to the roof, and his security team is more than happy to sweep the area, then just stand guard at the bottom of the elevator.  He’s more than happy to let them.  It’s a win/win.  Blair and Chuck aren’t thrilled he’s missing their New Year’s Eve party _again_ , but they understand.  They don’t really want to deal with his security detail if they don’t have to and he does not blame them one bit.

He thinks maybe this year he’ll pay attention to the fireworks, pretend it’s her birthday again or the fourth of July or something, and remember their summers, their times, their fireworks.  That will sustain him until she lets him know she’s ready for something.  He doesn’t get there until after eleven-thirty because the fireworks start at midnight. 

The time doesn’t matter as much as what his security people neglected to mention with their smiles and ‘ _go ahead, sir, the roof is clear for you.’_

Serena has stretched two cords of lights across the parapet ledge, on the inside.  It gives the rooftop area a gentle glow that won’t be visible from the street (even though they’re high up, so it’s already mostly private.)  She’s got a little table with a bottle of champagne chilling, two glasses, and some strawberries he doesn’t want to contemplate the quality of because it’s December.

He shoves his hands in his pockets and offers her a small smile, even though his heart is picking up speed like a rocket with freshly-lit boosters.  Her smile is a little less discreet and a lot sunnier as she crosses the roof toward him.

“I think this is becoming a tradition,” she says.  “ _Two_ makes it a tradition and I like it.”

She’s probably never had anything in her life, besides him, that was the same two years in a row and he hasn’t actually thought of that until she speaks in that warm, honey voice she uses when she’s standing right in front of him.

“I thought you were going to be at Chuck and Blair’s,” he says, his hands reaching for her as soon as she’s close enough.  He can feel the goosebumps on her arms under his fingertips.  She’s wearing a dress with one sleeve at least, and it looks great, but it’s still not enough coverage for the cold.  Plus, the dress stops well above her knee and, while he’s no expert, the material looks more liquid than warm.  It’s possible he’s paying attention to her entire body, but that’s mostly because he’s trying to absorb all the details, not just how great she looks in a dress.   But it’s hard not to notice that with the rest of it, you know?

“I knew you weren’t going to be,” she says, stepping a little closer and shivering (not because she’s cold, though.)  “I missed you on Christmas.”

He could make an excuse, could say he’d had wine with his mom and it made him sleepy like always; it would be true.  Instead, he stays quiet and watches her, his fingers playing with hers as she talks.  He’s thinking he might kiss her ahead of the typical midnight if she keeps talking and saying things that make it hard for him to breathe.

“This year should have been impossible,” she says.  “But it _wasn’t_.  Because on this roof last year, I got you back.  Somehow, that made all the difference.”  Her eyes drift down to his lips.  “This year was ours.”

This year was reconnecting, Jenny’s overdose, her marriage failing because some guy let her down, his dad slipping away, her divorce, his inability to reconcile his family’s actions with his own wants and needs.  Yes, she helped him and helped her, and he’s starting this whole new job, but mostly this isn’t the year he wants to claim.  He shakes his head.   

“Nah.  This year was crap, mostly.  Let’s claim the new one instead,” he declares, his smile really taking hold.  Somewhere, somehow, he’s aware of the noises and lights from the massive crowds in various places before.  He loves this city, but right now, he’s glad to be above it and out of the street-level cacophony.  She’s barely started to nod her acceptance before he tugs her close and kisses her hard.  It’s about seven minutes too early to be perfect, but he doesn’t care.

They’re still kissing as the crowd organizes for the typical count down and as the world below them explodes into celebratory chaos that might give sound to what’s happening on the inside. 

They’re still kissing until fireworks start and she pulls away, lips folded inside like she wants to save the way he made them feel.  Her hand catches his and she starts backing up, leading him toward the wall so they can watch the fireworks.  He folds himself around behind her so they’re both tucked into his jacket and he kisses her neck while the pyrotechnics hit their stride all around the city.  They can see it all from their rooftop vantage point, and the colors glow and reflect in her eyes and off her skin.  It makes her even more ethereal.

It hits him that, for the first time in their lives, they’re in the same place at the same time.  Her divorce is final, he’s seen more of _her_ in the last year than any other woman who isn’t on his staff, their joint family issues are under control, the Basses are self-contained.  He hasn’t been pining or chasing or pressuring.  She hasn’t been running, or chasing someone else, or under pressure.

While it’s the end of a year, it’s the beginning of one, too.  And this new one?  This one is gonna be _theirs_. 


End file.
